Issues of Abandonment
by Fluffy-CSI
Summary: AU, BA. Bobby runs away from his feelings, and when he comes to his senses and returns, he finds that things have REALLY changed.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: AU, some Eames/Logan (as a plot device to get to BA, not as a real couple)

Disclaimer: Dick Wolf's, not mine, even in my weirdest dreams

A/N: This came to me in a dream (yes, yes I am weird), and I woke up thinking, "Eww how seriously creepy and melodramatic would that be?" . . . and yet an hour later I was intrigued enough to see what happened if I tried to write it. It started out as a oneshot (no way was I letting myself get into a fourth multi-partner), but it kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger. I forced myself not to post it til I had the whole thing done, though, so enjoy these couple really long chapters!

A/N 2: I'll be on vacation from this coming Friday to the next Sunday, so there will be no updates during that week (do you have any idea how much internet access costs on a cruise ship!). I am bringing a supply of pencils and paper, though, and I plan to try to do some longhand work on Reunion, etc

* * *

"That's all you're going to say? Bobby!" Alex shouted as he turned his back on her and pulled open her apartment door. "Would you at least tell me what . . ." She let her voice trail off as she realized that she was only talking to the door, not him. Dragging a hand down her face, she sighed and finished in a whisper, ". . . what this is all about?"

It was no use; he was gone. She stood there for a few more seconds, trying to make some sense of the not-argument she'd just had with her partner. She'd moved to hug him when he walked in - something that had gotten to be habitual for them when they met outside of work - and instead of putting his arms around her, he'd stepped back and put out his hands as if to ward her off. A second later, instead of a greeting, the first words out of his mouth had been, "I'm leaving."

She'd looked at him blankly. "That's stupid; you just got here."

"No, Eames." He'd shaken his head and taken another step away from her, retreating toward the door he'd walked through only seconds ago. "I mean _I'm leaving_. I'm . . . taking a leave of absence."

"What?" she managed to say through her shock. "Why?"

He shook his head again. "It's not important. Just . . . I'll be gone for a while. I just wanted to tell you in person."

She stared at him. "But you're not going to tell me why? No way, Goren. I want an explanation."

"I can't give you one," he said quietly, turning away from her and moving toward the door.

That's when she'd started shouting.

* * *

_Four months later_

"You have reached the voicemail box of Robert Goren. Please leave a message -"

She slammed down the phone and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to hold in the urge to scream or cry - or maybe both. He'd stopped answering her calls a month ago; she probably shouldn't have expected anything different today.

For a while, when he'd returned a call every now and then, she'd made excuses for him, telling herself that he was probably being worked hard at Quantico, that the ISU training program probably didn't allow much time for personal phone calls, but it was becoming clear now that it wasn't that he didn't have time to speak with her - he just didn't _want_ to speak with her. Even if that was the case, though, for him to ignore her calls today, of all days, was a true slap in the face.

Because today, she was desperate to speak with him. He had to have known that; he'd been the one to give Deakins permission to tell her the news: Goren had accepted a permanent position with the FBI. He was no longer a detective on a leave of absence, because he was no longer a detective at all.

And he hadn't contacted her beforehand. He'd left it up to Deakins, who had broken the news as gently as he could, even though he and she both knew that he no matter how well he'd phrased it, she'd know that it was her boss telling her because her partner - her ex-partner - refused to.

She dragged her palms down from her eyes to cover her whole face, whispering into them, "Jesus, Bobby." He wasn't talking to her, he'd given up his job and their partnership, and she still didn't know what she'd done to cause it all, because he wouldn't tell her!

"Eames?" a male voice asked from behind her.

She took a deep breath, rubbed her eyes one more time, and turned to face Mike Logan. "Yeah?"

He had been about to hand her a take-out menu and ask what she wanted to add to the squad's order, but the dull look in her eyes was so alarming, so un-Eames-like, that he forgot about the menu entirely. "Are you ok?" he asked instead, leaning against the corner of her desk and taking a closer look at her.

"I'm fine," she said flatly. "What do you want?"

"You don't look very 'fine,' if you don't mind my saying so."

She glared at him for a second, then turned her head and stared down at her desk. "Yeah, well, maybe I do mind. What do you want?"

It didn't take much brainpower to decide that she was probably upset today for the same reason she'd been upset for months. "Is it something about Goren? Did he get hurt?"

Her eyes widened and she just stared at him with her mouth slightly open for a few seconds before she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head tiredly. "How the hell would I know," she mumbled, not bothering to make it sound like a question.

"What do you mean, 'how would you know'?" he asked, confused. "Don't you still talk to him?" It was a stupid question to ask, he realized a second after it came out of his mouth. Of course she talked to him; Goren and Eames were too close to forget about each other just because one was on leave.

He was so busy thinking about what a dumb question it was that it took him a few seconds to realize that she hadn't answered. What he saw when he finally returned his attention to her rendered him speechless: she had her head down, as though she didn't want him to see her face, and her closed eyelids were trembling. Mike Logan may not have been a great people-reader like some others he knew, but he was perceptive enough to realize that those trembling lids meant she was fighting back tears. Alex Eames, crying? What the hell?

"Come here," he said quickly, taking hold of her arm and pulling her up to her feet.

"Stop it." She tried to brush his hand away, then opened her eyes to give him a look of annoyance when he didn't let go.

He saw tears in her eyes in the few seconds she kept them open, and he tightened his grip on her arm. "Come on," he said, more gently this time. "You don't want to do this in here where people will see."

She swallowed, realizing he had a point, then nodded and allowed him to lead her toward an empty interview room.

He released her arm as he closed the door behind them, then pulled the blinds so that spectators would be foiled. "Sit," he told her. "You need a tissue?"

Her breathing hitched, although she managed to keep any tears from falling. "Maybe." She knew her voice sounded ridiculously weak, but she was pretty sure that if she spoke any louder, she'd choke on her words.

He slid the box on the table toward her and watched as she reluctantly dabbed at her eyes. "Do you want to talk about what's wrong, or do you want me to leave you alone?" He was fully prepared to leave her; she seemed like the type of woman who hated having others see her cry.

She folded the used tissue neatly in front of her and ignored his question as she scrubbed her fists over her face. "I can't believe I'm doing this. This is pathetic."

"Somehow, I doubt that you're this upset over something that's not worth it. Is . . ." He paused, trying to guess how she'd react to what he was about to ask, then decided to forge ahead. "Is it something to do with Goren?"

She nodded, then shrugged. "It's stupid. He didn't _do _anything to me, it's just that . . . oh, I don't know."

"Did he get hurt or something?" Logan prompted.

She snorted. "No. No, he's doing just fine as far as I know. But who am I kidding . . . if he got killed tomorrow I'd probably be the last to know."

Well _that _wasn't quite what he'd expected to hear. "You had a fight?"

"You have to actually be _talking_ to have a fight," she said with a humorless laugh.

"Hmm." He didn't want to keep asking question after question. Eventually she'd lose patience and probably go storming out of the room, which would only make things more difficult for her when people started asking questions. "Listen, Eames . . . do you want to go get some lunch or something? Take some time to unwind? My treat."

She almost refused, figuring that the invitation was probably another one of Logan's attempts at womanizing, which he'd been casually lobbing at her and every other female in the building since he came on the squad. "I don't think . . ." She paused there, realizing that he was standing almost all the way across the room and his eyes were glued to her face. If this were a pick-up, he'd probably have sat next to her and tried to look down her blouse.

"Eames?" he asked, confused, when she looked hard at him and stopped talking.

After a second, she blinked. "Uh, sorry. Look, it's just . . . lunch sounds nice, but I don't want you to think it's anything but lunch," she finally said bluntly, at a loss for how to phrase it more delicately.

He raised his eyebrows. "Eames, you're a wreck right now. Believe me when I say I'm not going to try to jump you over cheeseburgers and fries."

His earnest delivery coaxed a tiny smile out of her, and she nodded. "Ok. Fine, then. Cheeseburgers and fries it is."

* * *

_Three months after that; seven months after Bobby left_

"Listen, man," Lewis said, trying to keep the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he bent over the '67 Mustang that was his current project, "you gotta get them to give you some time off. You've been working six, seven days a week for, like, seven months now!"

Goren slumped down on the couch in his small Virginia apartment. "This isn't the type of job where you can ask for time off. Besides, I enjoy it."

"Oh, is that why?" Lewis replied skeptically. "And here I was, thinking it was because you were trying to bury yourself and forget about what you left behind up here."

"What'd I leave behind that I would be trying to forget?" he asked, as if he and Lewis didn't both already know the answer.

"Last time I checked, it started with an A and ended with an X. And, incidentally, 'it' is due here in a few minutes to help me with this 'stang."

"Alex is working with you?" Goren said, suddenly sitting up a little straighter. "Why?"

"Why not? Shit," he mumbled as the ratchet he had been using slipped into a hard-to-reach area. "Hold on, Bobby. Gotta dig out a tool I dropped." He set the phone on the ground where he wouldn't step on it, then leaned further under the hood.

Goren sat with the phone still to his ear, only half-listening to the clanging and banging noises Lewis's search was producing. Alex was hanging out with Lewis? Working on cars with him? He'd known she enjoyed antique cars, but she'd never shown any interest in working with Lewis on them before . . .

_Before what, Goren? _said a voice in his head. _Before you got the hell out of her life and made sure she knew you weren't coming back? What did you expect her to do, sit around and mope for the rest of her life?_

"Bobby?" Lewis's voice shook him out of his thoughts. "You still there?"

"Yeah," he said shortly. "Why is she coming over there to work with you?"

Lewis pondered how to phrase his answer without angering his friend. "Well, this car's kind of her project. She came to me for help with it," he finally said, hoping the answer didn't sound as evasive as it really was.

"She doesn't own a Mustang," Goren said in confusion. "Or at least, she didn't," he added, reminding himself that it had been the better part of a year since he'd really even spoken to her.

"It . . . uh, well, it's not actually _her _car. It's just . . . her project."

"So then whose car is it?"

Before Lewis could answer, Goren heard the sound of a car door slamming on the other end of the line. Stiffening, he strained to hear what was being said.

"Hey!" a female voice, which he easily identified as Alex's, called. She sounded cheerful and not at all like she missed anyone whose initials were RG.

"Hey," Lewis replied. "I've got the hood up back there. You can get started; I just gotta finish this call."

"What've you guys got left to do?" asked a third voice - a male that Goren couldn't identify.

"Transmission's the next big thing on the list," Alex said, sounding farther away from the phone now. "Lewis, who are you talking to? Hurry up, we've got to get back to One PP by one or Deakins'll turn us into pumpkins!"

We? Who the hell was "we"? Lewis certainly didn't have any business at MCS, and that meant that whoever owned the other male voice did. Who from the squad would she be going around with on her lunch hour?

There was a series of shuffling noises that told Goren that Lewis was lowering the phone and covering the mouthpiece. "Alex," Bobby heard him say, the sound muffled but still comprehensible. "Why don't you send Mike, uh . . . to get some clean rags from inside. This is . . ." He couldn't hear what was said next; either Lewis covered the phone better, or he didn't finish the sentence. "I'd really rather he didn't hear," his voice picked up a second later.

"No," Alex said, loudly enough that he had no trouble discerning her snappish tone. "He's your friend, not mine."

"Oh, come on," Lewis said. "You know he's . . ."

Goren fought the urge to hurl his phone against the wall as Lewis's voice faded out again.

"I think maybe we'll just come back later," Alex said. "Logan, come on. We'll go back early and get brownie points from the boss."

Logan? Lewis had said something about "Mike" a minute ago. Alex was . . . with Mike Logan?

"Lewis!" he shouted into the phone, trying to get his friend's attention.

Two car doors slammed, then Lewis's voice returned to the phone, growling, "What?"

"Was that her?"

"Yeah, and if you couldn't tell, she doesn't want anything to do with you." Lewis didn't even try to conceal the contempt in his voice. "Was this what you were aiming for?"

"Who was with her?" he demanded, ignoring the question. "Was that Mike Logan?"

"Bobby," Lewis said, more calmly now, "you really don't want to hear about that stuff. You're done with her, remember?"

"Who was it?" Goren repeated insistently.

"Fine. Yes, it was him. She's been seeing a lot of him lately."

"Are they dating?"

"Ok, look," Lewis said with a sigh. "You know I'm your friend and I'm on your side and all, but you messed with her, big time, when you left. As far as I'm concerned, if you're going to keep your head up your ass, she's welcome to date whoever she wants, and if you want details, you're just going to have to call _her _and ask. I'm not here to play telephone because you two aren't talking to each other."

"Lewis!"

"I'm serious, Bobby. You want to know, you call her. Otherwise, leave it alone. Now, I gotta go get started on the work she would have been helping me do if she hadn't left as soon as I mentioned you. I'll talk to you later."

"Uh, yeah . . ." Bobby muttered dazedly. He lowered the phone when he heard the _click _of his friend hanging up, but just dropped it into his lap instead of hanging it up. Alex and . . . Logan? _No, _he thought, shaking his head, _she'd never date him. He's too . . . too what? Too unlike me? Well, apparently she's not a big fan of me anymore, so I guess that's no longer a good reason._

This time, he did pitch the phone across the room, taking a vague satisfaction in the way it shattered against the bricks of the chimney.

* * *

_Two months after that; nine months after Bobby left_

He fought it for two months, that crushing desire to do what Lewis had said he should: call her. He had no idea what he could say to her, to explain his actions or to make things better between them, but he needed to speak to her. To hear her voice.

. . . and to know what was going on between her and Mike Logan.

And then one day, after staring for six straight hours at pictures of mutilated bodies and trying to think himself into the photos and the killer's head, his restraint just snapped. He swept a hand across his desk, knocking the photographs to the floor, along with four pens and his portfolio, and snatched the phone out of its cradle. It occurred to him after he started dialing that he had no idea whether she still had the same phone number, but it was too late to wonder about that now.

A male voice answered, and he almost hung up automatically, figuring she'd changed her number, before he processed what the voice had said: "Eames's phone."

The words stuck in his throat. It _was _still her number, but there was a man answering for her.

"Hello?" the male voice tried again. "Anyone there?"

It sounded like Logan, god damn it. Now what was he supposed to do? "Eames, please," he finally managed in a voice so tight that it was probably unrecognizable, anyway.

"Hold on," the man replied with equal abruptness.

There was silence for a few seconds before she came on the line and said, "Hello?"

"Al - uh, Eames," he said hesitantly.

There was silence again, although this time he could hear her breathing next to the phone. "Who is this?"

She'd recognized his voice on the first syllable, he knew. There was no way she couldn't have. So why was she making him say it? He swallowed. "It's, uh, me. Goren."

"Whatever you're calling about, I'm not interested," she said brusquely.

"Alex!" he called, trying to keep her from hanging up. "Please, just . . . listen to me?"

She sighed. "What is it you want to say, Bobby?"

There was a muffled exclamation in the background, and he realized that whoever had answered the phone was still in the room, listening. "Send him into another room while you talk to me," he ordered without thinking about how autocratic it would sound to her.

"No. You don't get to set the rules for this conversation, so either talk or hang up. I've got better things to do than listen to you bitch."

"I'm not bitching."

"Then what _are _you doing? You haven't returned any of my calls in months, so why are you suddenly calling me? Get bored with your profiling?"

"No." He sighed, realizing that she wasn't going to cut him any slack - not that he really had any right to expect any. "I just . . . wanted to see how you're doing. If you're ok."

"You already know I'm fine. I'm sure Lewis has told you that. What's your real reason?"

"Who was it that just answered the phone?" he blurted before he could lose his nerve.

She let out a breath of disgust. Silly her, thinking he might actually be calling to apologize and talk to her. "That's not any of your business."

"Was it Mike Logan?"

"Why ask if you already know?" she countered, not directly confirming or denying it.

"Does that mean it was?" he pressed.

She snorted. "Goren, it wouldn't be your business even if I had the entire starting lineup of the Yankees naked in my apartment. You got any other questions, or were you just checking to make sure I hadn't replaced you?"

"I . . ." He licked his lips nervously. "How has Major Case been?"

"We've survived just fine without you."

"Alex, please."

"Don't call me that," she snapped, trying to keep her voice from shaking. His tone sounded contrite, but his words were anything but, and she could feel herself wanting to soften toward him even though he hadn't expressed any remorse. "You call me 'Eames' or you don't call me anything."

Before he could respond to that, Goren heard a low voice murmuring to her on the other end of the line. He tried to listen in, wondering with horrified fascination what was going on in her apartment:

". . . don't have to," the male voice was saying. "He's not your responsibility anymore."

"I know," she whispered. "I just . . . need to know why." Her voice grew louder as she began to speak into the phone again. "If you're just calling to chat, Goren, then I'm hanging up. Unless you've got anything more important to say?"

"I guess I just wanted to know . . ." He closed his eyes, hating both himself and her for this conversation. "Are you happy?"

"I'm still alive," she said simply. "What about you? Did you enjoy running away from your life?"

"I asked if you were happy," he repeated softly, ignoring her taunt, "not if you were still alive."

She sucked in a breath, amazed at his gall. "You really want to know the truth, Goren? Then no, I'm not happy. It's hard to be happy when your best friend runs away from you and won't even speak to you to tell you why. There, is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" She was losing the iron grip she'd kept on her emotions up to this point. Shoving the phone at Logan so he could hang it up, she dropped onto the couch and buried her head in her hands, trying not to shake.

"You've got a goddamn lot of nerve, Goren," Logan bit out, putting the phone to his ear as he sat down and put an arm around her. "What, tearing her up once wasn't enough for you?"

"I . . ." He took a breath and let it out, trying to regain his self control. "I didn't mean to tear her up at all."

"Yeah, well, if the whole disappearance thing was supposed to be a love letter, it got lost in translation. She's rebuilding her life now, and she doesn't need you trying to take that away from her."

"I don't want to . . . I just want to know that . . ." That what? She'd already said that she wasn't happy. Why was he still on the phone, torturing himself?

"You wanted to know what?" Logan demanded. "Whether she'd still come crawling if you snapped your fingers? Got news for you, buddy: you had your chance, and you blew it to kingdom come. So leave her alone."

With that, Logan disconnected the call and tossed the phone toward the coffee table. "Alex? You ok?"

She shuddered. "Yeah. I . . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."

"Stop right there," he cut her off. "Don't apologize. You think I don't know what you two had between you? You have every right to be shaken when he pulls a stunt like this." Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head. "It's getting late; I should head home. Will you be ok alone?"

She nodded slightly. "Yeah. I just . . . won't answer the phone for the rest of the night if I don't recognize the number. Thank you, Mike. For being here."

He shook his head, refusing her thanks. "I couldn't do anything else for someone I . . . care about so much." He mentally kicked himself for almost letting the l-word slip out - if there was one thing he'd discovered about Alex in the months since Goren abandoned her, it was that she'd shy away from anything resembling commitment or emotional dependence. "Call me if you need me, ok?" he went on after a second, standing up. "Any time of night."

"Ok." She stood up and hugged him for a long second, then allowed him to pull away.

"Lock the door behind me," he warned automatically, although they both knew she didn't need to be told.

"I will." She leaned against the edge of the door for a second as he moved into the hallway, then seemed to make a decision. Catching him by surprise, she stepped forward, rose on her toes, and kissed him quickly. By the time he realized what had happened, she was back in the doorway, giving him a small smile. "Night, Logan."

Wondering what the hell had just happened, he watched blankly as the apartment door closed between them. Then, not sure whether he should be angry at Goren for hurting her again or thankful to him for spurring her on, he just shook his head and headed for the elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three months later; one year after Bobby left_

Goren stepped out of the taxi and shouldered his duffel bag as he stared at the building that had once been home to him. Eleven floors up, his dream would be sitting across the room from his nightmare. He'd thought he was prepared, but now, looking at the gray brick, he no longer felt so sure.

"What the . . . Goren?" a voice said from off to the right. "Bobby?"

He turned toward the voice and found his old boss staring back at him. "Captain Deakins . . ." he managed with a weak smile. "Hi."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Deakins asked with cheerful astonishment. "Haven't you been working at Quantico?"

He shrugged. "I was. I'm . . . uh, I decided I missed the city; I'm being transferred up here as a profiling coordinator for New York Metro."

Deakins looked like he was debating how to react to that statement. "That's great, Goren. We've missed you. Think we'll be able to work with you sometime soon, then?"

"Hopefully, sir. So, uh . . . how are things upstairs?" Goren asked, nodding toward the building they were standing in front of.

"To hell with the 'sir,'" Deakins said with a grin. "You don't work under me anymore; call me what you want. As for things upstairs . . ." He paused. "Mostly the same, I suppose. Were you going to go up?" he asked, trying not to let his nervousness over that prospect show. Things _were_ largely the same in Major Case, but the things that had changed . . . well, those things had changed a lot.

Goren cocked his head to the side, studying the building as if it could provide him with more information for his decision. "I was thinking about it. If you're heading back in, I think I'll go with you."

"Sure, of course." He held the door for the younger man, watching as Goren tried to wrestle his large duffel through the not-so-large doorway. "So, uh, have you kept in touch with anyone?" As far as Deakins knew, Goren hadn't spoken to Eames since the day he decided to make his leave permanent; he had no idea if the guy had spoken to anyone else on the squad.

Goren shook his head. "Not, uh . . . not really. Long hours, you know?"

"Right, long hours," he said with an answering nod as they stepped into the elevator. "Listen, Bobby," he added as the numbers began to light up with the progress of the car, "when I said things are mostly the same . . . well, they are, but there's a few things that . . . that you probably don't know about and you might want to . . ."

"I don't expect everything to be the same," Goren interrupted. "It's been a year; things evolve."

Deakins inclined his head in a barely-there nod as the elevator jerked to a stop on the eleventh floor. "Right, evolution. Just, you know . . . don't be surprised."

The squad room was packed - so much so that from the entrance, the two men couldn't see more than a few feet in the direction of Deakins's office. "After-Christmas sale," Deakins joked weakly, noting the large group of uniformed officers in the middle of the room, a presence which usually indicated that a number of in-custody interviews were going on.

"Looks pretty much the same, at least from here," Goren said, scanning the chaos for familiar faces. "Is Eames still -"

"Same desk," Deakins said with a nod. "But Bobby . . ." He was talking to thin air; Bobby Goren, all seventy-six inches of him, had disappeared into the crush. "Christ," the captain muttered as he began to make his way toward his office, rubbing his forehead. "Please, let me be wrong about how this is going to end."

Alex was at her desk, bent low over a form that seemed to change its wording every time she moved her eyes, when he came up behind her, but she remained blissfully unaware of his presence until he dropped his duffel bag with a _thump_.

She jumped, startled by the noise, and turned in her chair to admonish the culprit. "Do you mind? Some of us are -" She stopped short when she realized who she was looking at, then closed her mouth and turned swiftly away from him, back to her form.

"No 'hello' for an old partner?" he asked lightly, circling to the side of her desk so he could see at least part of her face.

Without looking up, she snorted derisively. "Not for an old partner who didn't even care enough to say 'goodbye' in the first place."

"Oh, come on. Don't you want to know what I'm doing here?"

Keeping hold of the pen in her right hand, she sighed heavily and rested her chin in her left. "Look, Goren, I know its been a while for you, but some of us have got wo- What the hell are you doing?" she yelped as one of his hands shot out and grabbed one of hers. "Let me go!"

"What's this?" he demanded.

She followed his eyes down to her hand, and it took her a second to figure out what he was talking about. "It's a -"

"It's a ring," Logan said as he came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "I would have thought that'd be obvious to an FBI genius like you."

Alex tipped her head back and gave him a small, grateful smile before looking back at her ex-partner. "Like he said, it's a ring." Unable to completely smother her uneasiness, she raised one hand to her shoulder and laced her fingers through Logan's. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she relaxed slightly.

"It's on your left hand," Goren said, feeling like the rug had just been pulled out from under him as he looked again at the modest diamond on her ring finger.

"You're goddamn brilliant," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Why is it on your left hand?" he persisted. There had to be something he was missing, because the obvious explanation was completely unacceptable to him.

"Because that's the customary place to wear an engagement ring. Would you please leave me alone so I can get my paperwork finished on time?"

"You're engaged?"

Obviously his skull had gotten thicker in the year since she'd seen him. "Yes. Now, if you feel the need to discuss it farther, can you not do it in the middle of the squad room?"

"Where do you want to do it, then?"

She slammed the pen down on her desk and shot to her feet, almost knocking Logan over as he tried to get out from behind her chair. "Apparently all that FBI discipline still didn't teach you to keep your mouth shut. Go in the conference room; I'll be in there in a minute."

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, suspicious of her last statement, then just scowled and turned away, picking up his duffel with a grunt. "One minute, Alex. Or I'm coming back out."

She just glared at him until he retreated. "I'll be fine," she told Logan a second later as he moved to stand next to her. "He'll leave me alone once I beat it into his head."

"You want me to come in with you?"

She shook her head. "No. He won't get really angry with me, but he might with you; it's probably better if you stay out here."

"Ok, if you say so." He was reluctant to send her into the room, partly out of possessiveness and partly out of concern for her, but she had a point. "I'll be out here if you need me."

"I know." She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks."

Logan watched her turn and walk toward the conference room, and tried not to wonder exactly how "over" Bobby Goren his fiance was.

* * *

She shut the conference room door quietly behind her and moved toward the table where Goren sat with his head in his hands. "You wanted to discuss," she said coolly, "so discuss."

He raised his head slowly and pinned her with his gaze. "You're engaged."

"Yes." She dropped into a chair across the table from him and crossed her arms.

"To Mike Logan?"

"Yes."

"_Why_?"

She blinked. "Because he loves me and he asked me to marry him."

He didn't miss her subtle evasion. "Do you love him?"

She almost panicked for a second before she caught herself. "If you're just going to ask stupid questions like that, then I'm done here," she told him, standing up forcefully.

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry." He held out a hand to stop her from moving. "What _can _I ask?"

"I don't know, Bobby," she sighed as she sat back down. "Why did you come back?"

"I . . . I missed you," he said tentatively. "It was . . . it was stupid of me to leave the way I did."

"You're right, it was, but it's a little late to decide that now."

"Why is it too late?" he protested. "You're not married yet."

She raised her eyebrows. "What does that have to do with anything?"

It was his turn to look confused. "Well I assumed . . . why is it too late, then?"

She dropped her head into her hands, burying her fingers in her hair. "Because it's been a _year_. You left for a _year_, Bobby, and I didn't know where you were going, or why, or how you were doing, or whether it was my fault, or whether you even remembered I was alive. You can't just come waltzing in now, mouth an apology that's not even an apology, and expect things to go back to the way they were."

His mouth worked for a second as he tried to absorb her words. "I'm sorry, Alex. I really, honestly am."

"Don't call me 'Alex.' I told you that the last time I talked to you."

"Why not?" he asked. "You used to tell me to call you that."

"I only let friends call me that." She didn't need to add that he no longer fit into that category; the implication was obvious without being spoken. "Bobby," she said on a sigh, "I don't know what you want from me. You can't turn back the clock and make everything the way it used to be."

"Just . . . give me another chance."

"At what?" she said, laughing incredulously. "You don't even work here anymore; what do you want another chance at?"

"At . . . I want . . ." He took a deep breath. "I want another chance with you."

"No." She said it softly, almost inaudibly, but the sound of her chair scraping back as she shot to her feet communicated her answer just as well. She kept her eyes down, focusing on the floor as she walked toward the door. Then, when her hand was on the doorknob, she paused and looked back at his stricken face. "You were one of my best friends, and there are a lot of things I'd give you a second chance at. But I'm sorry - I'm just not one of them." With that, she opened the door and disappeared through it.

Bobby stared at the spot she had been standing in for a good minute, trying to assimilate the fact that she'd just turned him down flat. It hadn't really occurred to him that he might not be able to talk her around; he'd made all his plans based on the assumption that she'd at least let him in again as a friend.

Could she really be in love with Mike Logan? he wondered as he slowly began to make his way back to the elevators.

* * *

Logan kept his peace on the topic of Bobby Goren until they stepped out of the building at the end of the day and he asked her where she wanted to go for dinner.

"Huh?" She looked at him blankly, as though "dinner" was a foreign concept.

"Dinner, Alex. Where do you want to eat?"

"Oh." She looked away from him, watching the children playing in the park across the street. "Honestly, Mike, I don't really feel like eating. I'm just . . . tired. How about a raincheck?"

He studied what he could see of her face. "Look, you don't ever have to see him again. You told him what you thought; it's over now. Let's go out, blow off some steam."

"He's a friend," she replied automatically. "I can't not see him."

"You managed just fine for the past year. And when did he magically become a friend again?"

"Ok, maybe 'friend' isn't the right word. My point is that I can't pretend he's not back. Deakins said he's working with the FBI office up here now; I might have to work a case with him eventually. Hell, _you _might have to work a case with him." She shook her head. "I . . . there's a lot of thinking I need to do about what happened today."

He tried not to sound jealous as he said, "Yeah, thinking about _him."_

She looked vaguely surprised at his tone when she looked back at him. "Well, I've already done all my thinking about you. Do I need to remind you that I'm still wearing the ring?"

He glanced down at her hand, although he already knew that she was telling the truth. "That's not what I'm saying. It's just . . . Alex, he chewed you up and spit you out, and now you're going to just smile and accept his apology and let him back in?"

"I would hope you know me better than that," she said mildly. "You have to understand that he left a huge hole when he left. I'm not talking about love, or romance, or anything like that, either. He tore away something that was just . . . part of my thought process. I just . . . it would be nice if I could fill that hole in, once and for all."

"He's not a _part _of you!" Logan said, disgusted. "He never was. He just spent five years training you to think you were."

"Mike," she said tiredly, "please, leave it alone. I just want to go home, have a cup of tea, and curl up in bed."

"Fine." Running a hand through his hair irritably, he turned away from her. "Do you need a ride to work in the morning?"

"No." She wound her scarf around her neck, looked once more at his back, and sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

Bobby wasn't sure what to do that evening. His first impulse was to call her and try to get her to talk to him, but the last time he'd done that, Logan had been sitting next to her. Then he thought that perhaps he should skip the phone call and just go to her apartment, but that presented the same problem - only, in the flesh. He could wait until morning and try to call her at work, but he was due at his own job at eight and that didn't leave much time for, well, anything.

Finally, he decided that the best of the bad lot was to go to her apartment. If he called and forewarned her, she might refuse to open the door, but he didn't think she'd be able to leave him standing in the hallway if he just showed up at her door. And if Logan was with her . . .

God, just the thought of them together made him want to break things. He thought briefly of the cell phone that had died an honorable death after he had first heard that she was seeing him. If Logan was with her, then he'd just have to take her somewhere else, somewhere where the other man wasn't.

* * *

"Coming," Alex mumbled as she shrugged on a robe and headed for the door of her apartment, which was shaking under the force of the knocks being delivered to it from the other side. "This better be good." Leaving the chain engaged, she opened the door a crack to see who'd interrupted her night of introspection.

She just stared at him for a second, a thousand things to say coming to the front of her mind and then being discarded, one by one.

"Uh, hi," he said quietly. "Are you . . . did I wake you up?"

"No," she sighed, "but you managed to fuck up my night, anyway. What do you want?"

He dropped his eyes, studying his shoes and trying not to think about how stupid he must look, both to her nosy neighbors and to her. "Could I maybe . . . come in? I mean . . . uh, if you're alone." _Oh, that was smooth, Goren. Don't be surprised if her answer involves a large-caliber weapon._

She continued to look at him, her brows slightly furrowed. "Bobby, it's ten o'clock at night. I haven't seen you in a year. I'm engaged. I _really _don't think letting you in here would be a good idea."

He didn't have a viable counterargument for any of those points, so he just nodded slightly. "I know. But . . . can I come in anyway?"

She blinked, waffling in spite of herself. "Ok," she sighed after a second. "I'll let you in on one condition: that when I tell you to leave, you _leave_. Or else I'll call someone to come force you to leave."

"Someone like Mike Logan?"

"Yeah, maybe." She shut the door, deliberately unhooking the chain very slowly, leaving him to stew outside the door for as long as possible. She couldn't believe that she was actually about to let him into her apartment, after everything he'd done. After her conversation with Mike that afternoon. After eight months of a complete lack of personal communication.

On the other side of the door, Bobby was content to wait and listen to the sound of the door being unlocked. If she had to warn him about calling someone to get rid of him, that meant there wasn't already anyone in the apartment who could do it. And that meant no Logan.

His night was looking up.

She pulled the door open, then stepped back and tightened the tie of her robe, feeling his eyes on her as he moved into the apartment. "What are you staring at?" she snapped.

He immediately pulled his eyes away from her. "Sorry." And then he just stood there, at a complete loss for what to do now that he'd gained entrance.

At least she wasn't the only one who was uncomfortable with this, Alex mused as she reached past him to close and re-lock the door. "So . . . uh, you're really transferring to the New York field office?"

"On a . . . uh, a short term assignment for now; when that ends I . . . Alex - I mean Eames?" he broke off awkwardly as she seemed to deflate slightly at his words. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and turned away from him. "Why did you come over here? I thought we'd already said everything that needed to be said."

He swallowed and followed her movement, trying to keep her face in view. "I . . . thought you might have questions. About why I went and things like that."

She snorted. "You're about eight months too late for that. I stopped caring why you went a _long _time ago."

"You don't understand . . ."

"I don't need to," she shot back. "You went and you didn't include me in the decision, before or after. That's all that matters. What _you_ have to understand is that when you refused to return my calls, you _forced_ me to stop caring. So don't act like it's a big insult."

"I thought . . ." he managed weakly, not looking at her. "I thought it was better that way."

"Better than _what_, Bobby?" she demanded, then shook her head. "Never mind. Don't bother. It doesn't matter. Just say what you came here to say and then go."

Not giving himself time to consider the consequences, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Listen to me!"

"_Listen _to you?" she repeated disbelievingly. "You want me listen to you _now_, when I spent months dying for something, anything from you to listen _to_?" She gave her arm a sharp jerk, pulling it out of his grasp. "Don't touch me."

He let her go, then sighed. "Would you . . . would you please just let me tell you why I left?"

She stopped once she had moved out of arm's reach and turned to face him. "Fine, if you feel like you have to. Knock yourself out. I'll be in the kitchen."

"Are you going to listen to me?" he asked her retreating back as she headed for her small kitchen. "Or are you just going to let me talk and ignore what I'm saying?"

A cabinet banged open. "Let's get one thing straight here, Bobby. I owe you _nothing. _Less than nothing. The only reason I even let you in here is because you used to be a friend; you should be glad you got this far." She jumped straight up to snatch a box of tea bags off the top shelf of her pantry, landing with a thump and nearly fumbling the box.

"Are you ok?" he called, reluctant to follow her into the kitchen in case that angered her more.

"I'm fine. Are you going to talk, or not?"

He listened as she ran water in the sink and then filled something metallic. She was making tea, he realized after a second. He wondered how many cups she'd be setting out. "I thought it . . . things . . ." He waited for her to laugh at his halting speech, but there was only silence from the other room. "I was beginning to become . . . difficult to work with. I didn't want to pull you down with me."

A burner clicked on; the metal of the teapot clanged against the metal of the burner. A second later, her head appeared in the kitchen doorway. "You didn't want to pull me down with you? What the hell kind of explanation is that? What do you think you did when you left, make my life into all sunshine and rainbows? Do I _look _better off?" She shut her mouth and retreated back to the kitchen then, realizing that the more she talked, the more things she said that she didn't actually want him to hear.

He stared at where she had been, surprised by her vehement speech. "I . . . no, I didn't think it would make you happy. But I did think it would be better for your career - and it was."

He jumped at the sound of a mug shattering against the wall that separated him from her. "Eames?" There was only silence from the other room, and after a second he cautiously moved toward the kitchen. "Alex? Are you ok?"

"My ca- . . . it was better for my _career_?" she repeated, the pitch of her voice steadily rising as she spoke. "You ran away because you thought it was good for my _career_?" By the time she stopped for a breath, she was nearly screaming. "You want to see the result of that brilliant move, Bobby?"

"Eames, I -"

"There," she said, still breathing hard as she pointed to the pile of ceramic shards where the remains of the broken mug had come to rest. "Take a look at that, then tell me you still think I'm better off."

Confused, he crouched down to get a closer look at the pieces. "Our . . . is this our Santa mug?" He was almost sure he recognized part of the beard that had once adorned the Santa's face, but he didn't understand why she'd broken it now or what she was trying to tell him.

"Take it," she said, shoving an empty freezer bag at him. "Get it out of here. I don't want to see it anymore."

He accepted the bag, but then straightened up to look at her instead of cleaning up the pieces. "I don't understand what you're . . ."

"I don't care what you don't understand anymore. I don't want to listen to whatever you have to say. I was . . . I almost had my life back together. And then you had to show up."

"Alex . . ." He reached down and began to gather the pieces of the mug, trying to keep one eye on her face at the same time.

She grunted disgustedly. "I don't know why I even kept that thing. God knows it doesn't bring back any good memories."

His hand tightened around the piece he had just picked up, but he was so focused on her that he only vaguely felt it cut into his skin. "Alex, please."

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly, to regain her composure. Whenever she'd pictured this confrontation during the past year - and that had been often, usually during daydreams involving revenge - she had never imagined herself losing her temper; she had always stayed cool and simply ignored his attempts to explain and apologize. _Idiot. Screaming and throwing mugs is only going to make him think you're irrational, _she admonished herself silently.

"You're bleeding," she told him dully a second later, watching a drop of bright red fall from his hand to the floor.

He looked down, surprised to find that she was right. "Sorry." He absentmindedly wiped the blood off on the leg of his pants. "What do you mean, you 'almost had your life back together'?"

"Christ," she muttered disgustedly, dampening a paper towel in the sink and then handing it to him. "Use this to wipe it off. Your pants probably cost more than my entire wardrobe."

He glanced at his leg, realizing that he'd automatically changed into work clothes before leaving the hotel room that he was currently calling home, then shrugged and looked back up. "What did you mean by it?" he pressed, mentally dismissing the pants.

She shook her head and said tiredly, "I can't explain it." Then, unconsciously reverting to the manner that had been habit to her for so long, she held out a hand to him. "Come here. Let me see your hand."

He blinked, but did as she asked. "It's just a little . . ."

She pushed his hand, palm-up, onto the counter and bent to look at it. "Keep it clean."

"What?" he asked, confused by her sudden lack of hostility.

"It's on your palm," she said as if he were an idiot. "A band-aid won't stay on it. So keep it clean, or else cover it with an actual bandage. Or both."

"Uh, ok."

She released his hand and, not realizing how close she'd moved to him, looked up. Alarmed by her unexpected proximity to his chest, she tried to take a step back, but found herself restrained by his hand on her wrist. "Bobby, let go."

He stared down at her, wondering what she'd do if he tried to leapfrog over all the explanations and just kiss her now. Without realizing he was doing it, he pulled her closer until their bodies were almost touching.

"Don't," she said weakly. "This isn't . . . you don't belong here."

"Oh, and he does?" he shot back, forgetting his resolution to bury his jealousy for the night.

She gave up on trying to pull his hand off her, and just looked away. "At least he's been here for the past year, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

"And that's why you're marrying him?" he asked with a snort. "Because he's 'been here'?"

"Bobby . . ."

"I was here with you for five years and you never had any interest in marrying me. So what's his secret?"

"Stop it!" Noticing that he'd let down his guard, she yanked her arm free and backed away. "How I feel about Mike isn't any of your business."

His eyes narrowed as he countered her movement. "Oh, it's not?"

"No, it's not. Whatever right you had to comment on my love life was shot to hell when you walked out on me. I - _stop it!" _she said again as he snaked an arm around her waist before she could move away. "I'm serious, Bobby. You don't get to do this to me." As soon as she finished saying it, she saw the conversational opening she'd left him, and tried not to groan.

"Who does get to do it to you, Alex? Mike Logan?" He tried to pull her closer, but instead released her with a yelp when she kicked him hard in the shin.

"Yes, he does," she snapped, stepping back. "Because he cares about making me happy. I can't believe you'd actually come here and expect me to fall into your arms like you're some kind of prodigal partner. We're _done_, Goren. You made sure of it, so don't try to make me feel guilty about it."

"Alex . . ."

"I told you to stop calling me that. If you can't even follow that one simple rule, then you just need to leave, now," she told him, pointing toward the door.

"Ok," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. 'Eames.' There, happy?"

"I'd be a hell of a lot happier if you weren't in my face," she growled. "Clean up the damn mug. I want it off my floor." With that, she turned away and strode out of the room. Dropping down on the couch in the living room, she re-tightened her robe and sighed. "I think you should go, Bobby."

He swept up the last few pieces of the mug, then turned off the burner under the teapot as he passed it, figuring that tea wasn't in the cards tonight for either of them. "Please let me explain," he said, closing the bag as he made his way to the living room.

She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands into them. "I think you've done enough explaining. You're only making things worse. Look," she added, dropping her hands and opening her eyes to meet his, "you have a new job, a new office. A new life. You're not going to have any trouble finding a new partner or a new conquest, so why are you clinging to me?"

"I . . ." He tossed the bag onto the couch and dropped to his knees in front of her. "You're not a conquest. And you're not just a partner."

"You're right." She stood up, edging around his kneeling form, and walked to the door. "I'm not either of them. I'm not anything to you anymore. So go live your new life. Get out of here." She pulled the door open and looked at him pointedly. "Goodnight, Bobby."

"Eames," he managed as he grabbed the bag containing the mug and stood up. "Please, let me -"

"No more 'let me's," she snapped. "Get out."

He walked over to where she stood, but made no move to cross the threshold. "Alex . . ."

She planted a hand in the middle of his chest and shoved as hard as she could. "Go home," she said quietly, watching as he stumbled forward into the hallway. As soon as he was clear of the threshold, and before he could turn and try to get back in, she slammed the door. He stayed, pounding on the door, until she'd engaged all three bolts on the door, and she struggled to keep her resolve . . .

Bobby Goren was not part of her life now, no matter how much he wanted to be. He'd been too much of her life for too long, with the result that she'd lost part of herself when she lost him.

She simply couldn't allow him to take any more of her.


	3. Chapter 3

There were flowers on her desk the next morning. She was almost afraid to read the card, afraid they might be from Bobby but, at the same time, afraid they might not be. So she ignored them as long as possible, which turned out to be until midmorning, when her partner, Parker, a class clown only two years from retirement, nodded toward the basket and looked at her curiously. "Got another admirer, Eames?"

She'd been trying to convince herself that she was concentrating on her computer, but his words broke through that little delusion. She looked up, scowling at the flowers. "I don't know who they're from."

"Isn't there a card?" he pressed, reaching across his desk for the basket. "There almost always is in these things."

She slapped his hand away. "Hey! If there _is _a card, it's my business, not yours. Hands off."

Parker snorted. "Like we allow people to have private business around here. Hand it over." He reached for the basket again, and this time and sighed and gave it a little push toward him. "Good girl. You know, most women would be pleased to have two guys fighting over them. I guess you missed that memo."

"Bite me," she muttered, returning her eyes to the computer screen.

Undeterred, he opened the small envelope containing the card and pulled out the note. " 'I'm sorry for last night. Love, M,'" he read out loud to her. "Well, you're safe, at least this time. Logan stopped by yet this morning?"

"No. Give me that." She snatched the card out of his hand and read it for herself, then sighed. "He and Barek are out chasing a lead. And I don't know what you're talking about, saying I'm 'safe.'"

"Look, Alex," Parker said, putting down his pen, leaning back in his chair, and propping his legs up on his desk in a pesudo-casual pose he knew would annoy her. "I may be old, but I'm not dumb. You think it wasn't obvious yesterday that you're about to become a bone for two dogs to fight over?"

"Oh, that's a nice analogy. Thanks a lot."

"Hey, I'm just sayin'. If you want to keep everyone involved in this alive and in one piece, you'll be a lot better off making sure they forget about each other. And from what I know of Goren - admittedly, not much," he added as she opened her mouth to protest, "he's sharp enough to figure that out from himself. So I'm warning you: beware of sabotage."

"Sabo- What?" she said blankly. "Bobby isn't going to sabotage me."

He wagged a finger at her. "And I'd stop calling him by his first name, too, if I were you."

"Steve," she said, affecting a syrupy-sweet voice and brandishing the Bic that had been lying on her desk, "how would you like this pen shoved up your ass?"

"Down, girl. I'm just trying to give you a little partnerly advice."

"Coming from a guy who's been divorced three times," she shot back, "any relationship advice you offer is automatically suspect."

"Ouch." He dropped his feet and returned to a normal sitting position. "What are you going to do if he decides to stop in again like he did yesterday?"

"Nothing!" she said, fighting the urge to throw a paperweight at his head "He used to be my partner. He's not now, and he's not a friend, either. I have no reason to speak to him even if he does show up here."

"I'll make sure to tell him that if he stops by while you're gone."

She ground her teeth. "If he stops by while I'm gone, you're not going to say _anything _to him, if you want to live long enough to retire."

He gave her a jaunty salute. "Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say. So, got lunch plans?"

Suspicious of the sudden change of subject, she looked at him closely as she said, "Mike and I will probably go grab something together if he gets back in time. Otherwise, take-out as usual."

"Hmm. Wonder what time the Feebs get their lunch break . . ."

She didn't have a paperweight handy, so she settled for throwing her pen at him.

* * *

Deakins, looking like he wanted to offer sympathy but knew better than to try, told her and Logan to take as long as they needed for lunch that day.

As she sat at her desk and listened to Logan chatter on about where to take her to eat, her eyes kept wandering back to Parker, who was watching them with a smirk. She glared at him pointedly, but he just gave her a wink as Logan began to lead her away, trying not to laugh at how shell-shocked she looked when she realized he'd made a decision about lunch while she was busy with her head in the clouds. "Enjoy yourselves, kids," he called after them, earning himself a fulminating look from her.

She let him take her hand as they stepped into the elevator, but couldn't make herself relax totally. "Uh . . . where are we going?" she finally asked, leaning back against the wall.

He looked down at her in surprise. "Were you asleep for the past ten minutes while I was talking to you about exactly that?"

"Sorry." She shook her head apologetically. "I'm out of it today."

"No kidding," he teased, nudging her arm with his. "Did you sleep last night?"

"Eventually. Just . .. like I said, lots of thinking." No way in hell was she going to tell him about last night's visitor. The situation between the two men was precarious enough without that added stress. "I hate feeling out of control."

"Bull," he snorted, releasing her hand and putting an arm around her shoulders as they stepped out of the elevator and headed for the front door of the building. "You've never allowed yourself to get out of control to begin with, and today's no different."

She said nothing as he steered her toward an upscale pizza parlor, but by the time a waitress showed them to a table, she couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer. "I don't think you really understand what it's like to have someone come back to haunt you."

He just looked at her in calm disbelief and picked up a menu. "Believe me, Alex - I know _exactly _how it feels. You're not the only one involved in this anymore."

Oh, like she needed another guilt trip, she thought in annoyance. "The only reason he has anything to do with you this time is because of me."

"And that's more than I _want _to have to do with him. I really don't understand how you've suddenly forgiven him just because he appeared again."

"Mike . . ."

"Sorry," he said shortly. "What are you going to have to eat?"

"What? Oh, uh, a couple slices of plain, I guess," she said, glancing down at the menu she'd almost forgotten about. Moving her eyes back to him, she tried again: "Mike, it's not really that I'm forgiving him. It's just . . . I can't go on hating him, especially if we're in the same city doing the same work."

"Sounds like forgiveness to me," he shot back. "New York's a big city; you don't ever have to see him again if you don't want to. Deakins isn't going to assign you to a case he's working. He wouldn't do that to you."

"This isn't about avoidance!" she exclaimed, slapping her menu down on the table. "I don't want to spend my life afraid I'm going to run into him at any minute. I have to just deal with it."

He sighed and reached out to cover her hand with his. "This isn't 'dealing,' Alex. This is you trying to pretend nothing's changed in the past year and you can just go back to being his . . . sidekick."

She stared at him, stunned by his harsh words, and yanked her hand back. "I was never just his sidekick, and I'm certainly not going to be _anyone's _sidekick now. Including yours."

"Ok, wait," he attempted. "I didn't mean -"

"You can't pretend you're impartial about this," she interrupted. "You never liked him to begin with."

"And you always liked him a little too much," he snapped. "So now that we've established that nothing's changed, can we just eat our lunch?"

She ignored that. "Look, I know it's your instinct to be protective and stuff, but that doesn't fly with me and you know it. Bobby is my problem, not yours, and you have to trust me to deal with it my own way."

"Well maybe if you were dealing with it in the first place, I wouldn't have to feel so protective."

"It doesn't matter whatI'm doing or not doing - you do_ not _need to protect me. Especially from someone who we both know wouldn't hurt me anyway."

"Oh, he wouldn't hurt you?" Logan laughed incredulously. "What do you call making you start crying in the middle of the day when he wouldn't answer your calls? You remember that, Alex? How I had to take you into an interview room so no one else would see how broken up you were over him?"

"I'm not listening to this," she said, shoving her chair back and standing up. "I haven't forgotten that stuff, but I also know him well enough to know that he thought, in some twisted way, that it was better for me. You have no idea why he did any of the things he did."

"Alex," he said, deliberately gentling his voice as he held out a hand to stop her retreat, "sit down. Please. Don't run away from me."

Suddenly tired, she lowered her head and dropped back into her chair. "Can we please not discuss this any more?"

"Ok," he sighed, resolving to force himself to do as she asked. "Whatever you want. So, uh . . . you want to see a movie or something tonight?" He looked away from her, leaning back as the waitress delivered their pizza, then moved his eyes back to her and coaxed, "You can pick what to see."

"I don't . . ." She sighed, shook her head, and looked down at her pizza, which looked a lot less appetizing than it had a few seconds ago. Why was she refusing his offer, anyway? What was she going to do, sit at home and hope Goren didn't appear at her door again? If she let Mike take her to a movie, she wouldn't have to worry about Goren at all.

"Alex?" he prompted, confused at her sudden silence.

"Yeah, ok," she said abruptly, looking up and pasting on a smile. "What movies are playing?"

* * *

It was past eleven o'clock, Bobby thought, trying not to grind his teeth as he stood in the shadows of her hallway and watched them arrive back at her apartment. Where the hell had he taken her that kept them out so late on a weeknight?

_You sound like her father, you idiot_, he told himself. _She doesn't have a curfew, and she has no idea you're seeing any of this. _And indeed, he was starting to wish that he _wasn't_ seeing it. She'd unlocked the door and pushed it open about halfway, then stopped in the doorway and turned back to Logan to accept his kiss. _Please, _Bobby thought, _don't let her invite him in. I can't watch that._

Alex pushed lightly against Logan's chest, urging him to take a step back from her. "I had fun. Thank you."

Logan looked down at her and sighed. "You're welcome. I guess this means I'm not getting invited in for coffee tonight?"

Smiling sheepishly, she shook her head. "It's been a . . ."

". . . a long day," he finished for her. "Yeah, I know." He also knew that this dismissal had nothing to do with her being tired and everything to do with the fight they'd had over lunch. "Try to sleep," he said resignedly as he leaned down to kiss her again. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Ok," she said softly, watching him walk away for a few seconds before turning and moving the rest of the way into her apartment. With a sigh, she kicked off her shoes and reached back to untie the halter neck of her slightly-too-tight shirt, trying not to think about, well, anything.

Maybe she should get herself drunk, she mused as she walked deeper into the room, heading for the kitchen. A cup of tea with a sizeable shot of Amaretto sounded really good right about now. She padded over to the floor-level cabinet that held her alcohol supply and started digging: vodka, rum, wine . . . aha, there was the rippled glass bottle she was searching for, all the way in the back of the cabinet.

She was leaning forward, half her body inside the dark space as she reached for the Amaretto, when she was startled by a knock on the door. She jumped, hitting her head on the top of the cabinet and, muttering a curse at herself, backed out of it and stood up. She didn't even want to think about who was at her door. Logan would be bad. Goren would be worse. All she could hope for was to see a neighbor or a family member when she opened the door.

Rubbing her sore head with one hand, she unlocked the deadbolts and cracked the door, keeping her body behind it.

Goren.

She shut the door again and backed away.

"Eames?" his muffled voice called through the wood. "Can I talk to you, please?"

"No," she said as firmly as she could. "You did more than enough talking last night." Turning away from the door before she could lose her nerve, she walked back to the kitchen and set about putting the kettle on for her tea. _Good for you, Eames_, she told herself as she reached for a plain white mug. _Maybe he'll get the message this time. Because really, you don't want to talk to him. That would be bad, no matter what you've been telling Mike about making peace._

She dropped a tea bag into the mug, set it on the counter, and turned on the heat under the teapot, then reluctantly moved back to the living room to retrieve a book she'd left there.

She didn't see him until she was already in the room, and as soon as she noticed that his back was still to her, she tried to back out of the room as soundlessly as possible.

"Don't you want to know how I got in?" he asked conversationally, still studying the wood of her door instead of turning to face her.

"No." She kept moving, even though she knew that now that he was in, he wouldn't be easy to get out.

"You didn't re-lock the bolts." He demonstrated by locking them now, then turned around. "Are you making tea?"

"Why do you care?"

His eyes lingered for a moment on her bare shoulders, then he shrugged. "I wouldn't mind having some. As long as you're not going to break another mug in the process."

"Go away, Bobby. You shouldn't be here." She leaned against the counter, glanced up at the cabinet she kept her mugs in, and then determinedly crossed her arms instead of reaching for one. "You just broke into my apartment."

"I slipped the chain," he said dismissively from the kitchen doorway. "I don't think that counts as breaking and entering when it comes to people who should know better."

"Sorry my security doesn't meet your approval," she snapped. "Usually I don't get intruders who knock on the door first."

He looked around the room, trying to remember where she kept her mugs.

"This one," she said with a sigh, pointing to the cabinet above her head and then moving away. "Why'd you come back? Couldn't find anyone else to torment?"

"I missed you," he said simply.

She blinked. Whatever this new strategy of his was, it was damn good at keeping her off balance. "Amazing," she murmured dryly after a second. "To suddenly start missing someone a year after the fact."

He looked confused for a second before he shook his head and said, "I missed you the whole time."

"Ah, right," she agreed sarcastically, "because when I miss someone, of course I cut off all communication with them. Makes things all better."

"Alex, I tried to explain . . ."

"No, you didn't," she broke in before he could finish making his excuse. "Even if you're referring to that shit you spouted last night, even then you didn't explain why you shut me out after you left."

"I . . ." He licked his lips, then shook his head. "Where did you go tonight?"

"Out." She pushed past him and snapped off the burner just before the kettle started whistling. "If you're really having some, get yourself a tea bag."

"Eames . . ." he murmured as he dug another tea bag out of the box on the counter.

"You keep implying you want to make amends," she told him, concentrating on filling the mugs and trying to block out the reality of his presence, "but every time I ask you a question about it, you clam up. So make a choice: do you want to talk to me about it, or not?"

He allowed her to push him out of the way again and snatch up the bottle of Amaretto she'd forgotten when he knocked. "It . . . the cutting myself off from you was . . ." he stumbled, "it was a selfish thing to do."

Not bothering with a shot glass, she poured a dollop of the liqueur into her tea, then looked up at him and held out the bottle questioningly. When he shook his head, declining it, she shrugged and screwed the cap back on. "Why was it selfish? What did you get out of it?"

"I . . . it was easier for me."

"To not talk to me?" she prompted, picking up her mug and sliding the other one toward him. "Why?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and carried her mug into the living room, leaving him to follow confusedly with his own mug.

She was sitting on the couch, legs curled under her, and for a minute he felt as if the past year hadn't happened. They were just Goren and Eames, settling into her apartment to spend an evening chewing over a problem that needed to be worked out. Then she looked up at him, and instead of the open expression she used to display for him, her face was closed.

No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't turn back time, he reminded himself. She'd said that yesterday, and she was right. He couldn't expect things to go back to what had once been normal . . . but he _could_ try to make a new sort of normal.

"Helloooo," she sing-songed, waving a hand at him. "Are you going to hide out in the kitchen or are you coming out here?"

"Sorry." He adjusted his grip on the mug and made his way to the couch, where he warily sat down as far from her as possible.

She watched, both pleased and disappointed that he'd figured out that affection wasn't allowed anymore. "Well? Why was not talking to me easier?"

"I . . ." He stopped and took a large, fortifying sip of his tea, ignoring the fact that it burned his mouth on the way down. "I left because I knew it would be better for you, but I knew that if I talked to you . . . if you asked me to come back . . . I wouldn't be strong enough to say no. So I just didn't say anything."

She lowered her mug to her lap, wrapped both hands around it, and stared at him. "Why did you think I would be better off without you, Bobby?" she asked gently.

Bobby closed his eyes and sighed. "Like I said last night, I was becoming difficult to work with, and -"

"That's not why," she broke in irritably, staring him down. "Please, for once would you just answer my question honestly? I think you owe me that."

He took another sip of tea, trying to buy time to think of a believable answer. He could feel her eyes on him as he drank, and he took a moment to wonder what in the hell he was doing here, drinking tea with a woman who hated him and trying to avoid telling her he loved her.

She saw his eyes go vague and realized that he was retreating into his head. Whether it was to find an answer to give her, or just to avoid her, she didn't know, but either way she needed his attention back. "Bobby," she said sharply. "Answer the question."

He blinked, then looked at her. "It wasn't safe to work together anymore. My . . . objectivity was compromised."

"Ok," she said blankly. "Now do you want to explain what you just said, in English this time?"

"I was going to mess things up, sooner or later. Either put myself in danger, or put you in danger, or put your career in danger."

"So . . . you just decided to make it sooner, rather than later?" she asked. "What gave you the authority to make that decision? And Jesus Christ, Goren, why couldn't you just have _told _me about it?"

"You wouldn't have allowed me to go," he pointed out, as if that explained everything.

"Damn right I wouldn't have. At least, not until you actually _explained _what was so horrible about you that you couldn't work with a partner anymore." Turning, she set her empty mug on the end table behind her with a little more force than necessary, and used that moment, when he couldn't see her face, to try to compose herself. What the hell was he trying to tell her, and why was she finding herself so scared to hear it?

"It wasn't that I couldn't work with a partner," he corrected. "It was that I couldn't work with you."

"Then what's so horrible about _me_?" she shot back immediately, tired of listening to him dance around the truth without ever quite voicing it.

He took a deep breath and looked away from her, focusing his eyes on the couch cushion that lay between them as he prepared to say the one thing he had been avoiding having to say for a year. "It's not a matter of you being horrible. It . . . I was - am - attracted to you, and no matter what I did with those feelings, you were going to end up getting hurt by them." There, he'd said it. Now she'd kick him out, but at least he'd have a clear conscience on the way.

Without warning, she jumped to her feet and began to pace the small area between the couch and the wall. "You know, I could really do without any more of these revelations of yours. Got anything else to tell me, while I'm already upset? Maybe you're married or something?"

"I . . . no," he managed, shaken by her forceful reaction.

"No?" she echoed with a humorless laugh. "Ok, then. Let me get this straight: you liked me so much that you thought it would be a great idea to desert your partner, leave your job, and go hide underground for a year? No wonder they call you a genius."

"Alex . . ."

"What?" she snapped, rounding on him. "What else do you have to say, now that you've told me my life got totally screwed up because of your . . . your stupid . . . _good intentions_?"

"I'm sorry."

She pulled her pacing to an abrupt halt at his quiet words. "You're sorry? Well good, because so am I. What do you expect me to do now?"

He looked around the room, debating his answer, then looked back at her. "Actually, I kind of expected to have been thrown out of here by now."

She turned her back on him and started pacing again, fighting the tears that were pricking at her eyes. "Yeah, well, you're welcome to go any time you're ready. Excuse me if I'm not up to doing the throwing myself."

Her voice was thicker than it should have been, and it took him a minute to realize that it was because she was on the verge of crying. But why? He had told her the truth and he hadn't asked her for anything in return. He was biting his tongue to _avoid _asking her for something, even just a hug or a smile.

Moving slowly to avoid alarming her or, more likely, pissing her off, he stood up and walked closer to her. When she didn't react to his movement, he took another step, this time putting himself within arm's reach of her. "Alex . . . look at me."

"Leave," she said flatly, refusing to look at him even when he took hold of her chin and tried to turn her head.

"Not with you like this, I won't." Gathering what little dignity and courage he had left, he moved his hands to her shoulders and pulled her to him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.

Alex stood stiffly for a few seconds, trying to force herself not to be comforted by his touch, but her willpower was blown to hell when one of his hands came up to cradle the back of her head, pressing her face into his chest. With a muffled sob, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shirt as the tears finally began to stream down her face.

He could feel the dampness through his shirt, and, not knowing what else to do, he just continued to hold her as she cried. Eventually, as the sobs tapered off, he loosened his arms around her, waiting for her to lift her head and look at him. A few seconds later, she did, giving him a tremulous smile, and he smiled back as he lowered his head to kiss her.

When she realized his intentions, she pulled out of his arms almost violently. "Don't!"

He raised his head again, looking at her in confusion. "Why not?"

"Because you . . . we . . . blew our chance at this a year ago, Bobby. And because of this." Too upset to consider what his response might be, she pulled the diamond ring off her finger and shook it at him. "You're too late, ok?"

He grabbed the ring from her fingers and looked down at it in his hand. "This? It's a ring, Alex, not a prison. Give it back to him."

She saw red at his casual manner. How dare he waltz back into her life and act like it was a foregone conclusion that she'd drop everything for him? "No!" she yelled, the volume of her voice forcing him to retreat a step. "You don't have a clue what this last year has been like for me. I . . . you can't expect to come back, tell me your little story, and have me forget all about Mike. It doesn't work like that. He's been here, ok? And he's staying here, which I certainly can't say for you and your 'short-term assignment'."

"Would you _listen _to yourself?" he snapped, closing his fist around the ring. "You're going to marry him because he's _here_? I haven't even heard you say you actually wantto marry him, let alone that you love him. You're using him as an excuse, and you know it."

If she kept letting him goad her, she was going to end up killing him. Forcibly tamping down on her temper, she held out her hand and said quietly, "Give it back, please."

He kept his hand closed. "And what if I won't?"

"Taking away my ring isn't going to take away my emotions, Bobby. Give it back."

Giving the thing a look of disgust, he dropped it into her hand. "Fine, take it. I didn't think you were the type to hide your head in the sand, but I guess I was wrong."

Ignoring that, she slipped the ring back onto her finger and crossed the room to open the door. "I can't do this, ok? I don't . . . I'm sorry it's hurting you, but it's the way things are. You need to leave."

He didn't bother to answer her as he walked out of her apartment, and he didn't turn around when he heard the door slam behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

She was returning from a very guarded lunch with Logan the next day when she was almost run down by a bike messenger as they were stepping out of the elevator. Logan pulled her out of the way and muttered a curse at the kid, who didn't bother to look back as he shrugged an apology. "Geez," she said, watching the elevator doors close in between her and the messenger. "They just don't teach those guys manners before they send them out on the streets, do they? I wonder who he was delivering to on this floor."

He chuckled dutifully, then tugged on her hand, pulling her around to face him. "Alex . . . are you ok? In general, I mean. You've been quiet all day."

"Yeah. I just really hate all this stress," she said, trying to sound casual. "Come on. Parker's probably waiting to give me another lecture about being late."

"You've got him wrapped around your little finger, Eames," he teased. "And he likes it that way as much as you do." He released her hand as they went farther into the room, saying over his shoulder, "Try not to let Parker talk you into getting married before quitting time, 'kay?"

She snorted. "I don't think my dad would approve of me marrying someone the same age as him. See you later." She gave him a small wave, then turned and headed for her desk.

Parker was lounging with his feet up on his desk again, eyeing a small cardboard box that sat in the middle of her desk blotter. Looking up and catching her questioning glance as she approached, he shrugged. "Messenger dropped it off a couple minutes ago. I decided to let you have the pleasure of opening it, since it's addressed to you."

"Gee, thanks." She slipped into her chair and examined the box, which was the right size to be holding anything from a music box to a split of champagne. "He didn't say anything?"

"Just that it was a delivery for Alex Eames. I signed for it - figured you wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, that's fine," she murmured, digging out her letter opener to slit the tape sealing the box. Pausing with two sides cut, she looked back up at Parker. "They did check this for bombs and anthrax and stuff, right?"

He grinned, knowing that she already knew it had to have been, to get past building security. "We're about to find out, aren't we?"

"Oh, that's reassuring." She went to work with the dull blade again, cutting open the other two sides, then tried to open the lid, only to find herself foiled by yet another piece of tape holding the front flap closed. Rolling her eyes, she tried to get a fingernail under it so she could pull it off. "Whatever's in here, it better be worth all this effort." The tape finally gave and her finger slid along the edge of the flap before she could check herself. She yelped and raised the injured digit to her mouth. "All this effort, _and _a papercut."

"Want a band-aid?" he asked, pulling open one of the drawers of his desk and digging around for one.

"Yeah, thanks." She accepted the bandage and wrapped it around her finger, then glared at the box. "You and me," she told the inanimate object fiercely, "have got a score to settle. You're goin' down, my friend." As Parker laughed in the background, she yanked up the flap on the box and peered into its depths. At first, she was greeted only with a pile of crumpled-up newspaper that had apparently been used in place of packing peanuts, and she pulled the paper out and tossed it absently on her desk, more interested in whatever was beneath it.

"You look like a little kid at Christmas," Parker said with a grin. "Go on, keep digging for your present."

She stuck her tongue out at him and reached into the box. Her fingers closed around something solid, and with a triumphant smile, she pulled out her prize.

And she immediately wished she could put it back in as she stared at the resurrected Santa mug, lined with tiny cracks but all in one piece and looking quite functional.

"Didn't you used to have one of those?" Parker asked curiously.

She blinked, then swallowed, trying to block out thoughts of what this delivery might mean. "Yeah. You can have this one," she blurted, shoving it across their desks toward him.

"Uh, it's a nice gesture and all," he said, using one finger to push it back toward her, "but I don't think it quite goes with my tough-guy image, you know?"

She gritted her teeth. "Well I don't want -"

"Hey, wait, there's something inside it," Parker interrupted, pulling out the sheet of copy paper before she could react. "A present and a note - well, at least they know how to be polite." He unfolded the paper and scanned the single sentence at the top of the page, looking confused. "Hey Alex? Any reason why someone would send you a note that says, 'Even something as shattered as this can be patched back together'? You make a habit of breaking things?"

She groaned and snapped, "Give me that," as she yanked the paper out of his hand. "It's not signed," she said as she looked down at it, as though she didn't already know perfectly well who'd sent it.

"Give ya two guesses," Parker said. "The odds are 50-50, as far as I can see: the old boyfriend or the new one."

Her hand clenched around the paper, crumpling it, as she raised her head and gave him a dangerous look. "He was my partner, Steve - _not _my boyfriend. And what makes you think they're the only two who could have sent it?"

"You got more boyfriends waiting in the wings?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "I had no idea you were such a man-eater, Eames."

"Shut up." She crumpled the paper into a tighter ball and tossed it into the trash can under her desk, then returned her gaze to that damn mug. _He must have spent hours piecing this back together . . . I wonder if he stayed up all night doing it. No, Alex, don't even start on that. He's doing this against your wishes, sending you a gift after what you told him last night. Who cares if he missed a week of sleep? Not my problem! _

The mug moved out of her line of sight suddenly, and she looked up to find her partner studying it. "Looks like it was broken," he commented, tracing one of the cracks with his finger. "Well, that explains the 'shattered' part. Who's it from, Alex? And don't tell me you don't know."

She clenched her fists and glanced over at where Logan sat, concentrating on his computer. He'd recognize the mug when he saw it. She had no idea what he'd make of it. "It's from Goren," she finally said, not willing to get into a fight with Parker over it. "It used to be . . . well, it was like our mascot."

"How'd it get broken?"

She snatched the mug back and glared at him darkly, muttering, "I threw it. Now, would you please stop asking questions? Pass me the LUDs from the Bianco case." Not waiting for an answer, she dropped the mug back into the box it had come in and slid the whole mess under her desk, giving it a gentle kick for good measure.

When she looked back up, Parker was watching her with one eyebrow raised. "Sure," he said, sliding the folder across to her as though what he'd just observed was a perfectly normal occurrence. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

* * *

Her phone rang just as she was gathering her things at the end of the day, and she scowled at it. "I swear to god, if I end up having to work late today . . ." she muttered before picking up the receiver. "Major Case, Eames speaking." 

"New York field office, Goren speaking," a voice replied with amusement. "It's the end of the day, Eames. Ease up on the professionalism."

She stared at the phone for a second, contemplating just hanging up right then and there, then moved her eyes to Logan's empty desk. He had left her a few minutes ago with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to call her later.

She sighed, knowing she didn't have a believable excuse not to talk to the man on the phone. "What do you want, Goren?"

There was a moment of silence as he let her think about all the possible answers he could give to that, then he said, "I'll settle for knowing whether you got the delivery or not."

She'd almost managed to forget the mug for a few minutes. Reminded of it now, she bent to look under her desk and fished the box out. "Yes, I got it. Unfortunately. Why'd you bother?"

"Well I . . ." he began, suddenly sounding embarrassed. "I, uh . . . couldn't just leave it broken. We used to love the thing."

"There is no 'we' anymore, Bobby. Don't delude yourself."

She heard him breathing slowly for a few seconds before he replied, "I don't think I'm the one suffering from delusions lately."

"I'm hanging up the phone now," she warned him. "I'm not interested in hearing this."

"Wait. Wait, Alex!" he called, not sure if the phone was still near her ear or not. "Don't hang up."

She sighed, wondering where all her willpower had gone in the past few days. "Why shouldn't I?"

"I just . . . look, I need to apologize for some of the stuff I said last night. Can I see you tonight to do it in person?"

Alex snorted. "That is quite possibly the weakest excuse I've ever heard for why I should let a guy see me. I told you last night - things are different now."

"I'm not asking you to sleep with me," he snapped before he could catch himself. "I just want to talk to you, face-to-face."

"Bobby . . ."

She was wavering and they both knew it. "I'll bring over some take-out, ok?" he said quickly. "What do you want?"

"Goren, you can't just keep showing up at my apartment every night!"

"I know," he said, sounding as if he didn't understand what the problem was. "That's why I'm asking first this time."

"That's not what I mean," she sighed. "I have a life beyond you, and it doesn't involve sitting in my apartment, alone, night after night."

"Just tonight, Alex. That's all I'm asking." He sounded almost pleading now, and her urge to hang up the phone before he could talk her into it grew stronger.

"How do you know I don't already have plans with Mike?" she challenged, knowing even as she said it that it was an act of desperation.

"I don't. I'm just crossing my fingers."

"Bobby . . ."

"_Please_. One night. That's all I'm asking, and if you still don't want to see me after that, I'll leave you alone."

She was silent, hating herself for wanting to give in to him. What kind of person did that make her, that she actually _wanted _to see the man who'd deserted her and was now trying to ruin her life all over again? "I can't . . ."

Her hesitation was a tell, and he didn't miss it. "I'm bringing Chinese, Alex. What time?"

"I . . ." She dropped her head into her hands, acknowledging defeat. "Give me an hour."

"And you'll be there? You promise?"

"I'm not promising you anything. You'll have to take your chances." And with that, she dropped the phone back into its cradle and put her head down on her desk, wondering what the hell she was going to do now.

* * *

A very subdued Alex opened the door to him a little over an hour later. She'd changed out of her work clothes, purposely donning one of Logan's shirts and her loosest pair of jeans, and scraped her hair back into a ponytail, as if she thought making herself sufficiently unattractive would get him to leave her alone. 

He was far beyond that, though, and the only thing he noticed about her appearance was that the shirt obviously wasn't from her own closet. "Is that his?" he asked, nodding toward the flannel button-down.

"Don't start," she warned, snatching the bags containing their dinner out of his hands. "You said you wanted to apologize; if you're not going to do that, you can just leave now."

"It was just a question." Without waiting for an invitation to come in, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

"Nothing's 'just a question' with you, Bobby." She adjusted the bags in her arms and walked off toward the kitchen, leaving him in the entryway.

He took a few jogging steps to catch up with her. "Alex . . ."

"Leave me alone," she muttered.

"You let me in," he pointed out, watching her drop the bags on the counter and start rooting through them blindly, since the tops of them were level with her head. "So you obviously aren't that dead-sent on being left alone." When she didn't turn around or stop searching the bags, he sighed and reached over her shoulder to point to one of them ."Sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls are in this one. Lo mein and rice are in the other." He withdrew his hand, but only took a small step back from her.

Her hands stopped moving for a second, and then she reached into the bag he'd indicated and pulled out the chicken. "You remembered, huh?"

"You're hard to forget," he said, leaning forward to whisper it in her ear.

That earned him an elbow in the stomach, and as he tried to get his breath back, she finally turned to look at him. "Would you stop it? This isn't you and you know it," she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but whatever it is, it's just making you look stupid."

He didn't know what to say to that. She was right, of course, that his actions in the past few days weren't things the old Bobby Goren would do, but the old Bobby Goren also hadn't been desperate to gain her attention. At least, he _usually_ hadn't. "I'm just trying to . . ." he began hesitantly, then stopped, trying to think of how to finish the sentence.

"You're trying to seduce me, is what you're trying to do," she informed him, looking slightly amused by the idea. "You want to make me forget reality while you're here."

"Maybe," he acknowledged slowly. "What's wrong with that?"

"You mean besides that I'm engaged to someone else and you cut me off for a year?" she said archly, pulling the top off the metal container holding her chicken a little too hard and spraying herself with the condensed steam that had gathered in the lid. "How about the part where you're trying to force me into doing something we both know I shouldn't do? Or the part where, quite frankly, having you whisper sweet nothings in my ear makes me want to burst out laughing?"

The tolerant grin he'd been giving her melted at her last point, leaving him expressionless. Well, that answered that question pretty clearly. He could try to out-romance another man, but if his feelings for her weren't reciprocated, there was no point in doing it. "It makes you want to laugh, huh?" he echoed, busying himself with emptying the other bag so she couldn't see his face. He was willing to be just a friend to her if that was all she'd let him be, but he would need some time to adjust to that.

She had hurt him with that comment and she knew it. He'd obviously taken it to mean she wasn't attracted to him, and though that _was_ how she'd wanted him to interpret it, guilt was niggling at her for not voicing the real meaning. "Bobby . . ."

"It's ok," he said with a shrug, trying to banish the rejection from his mind and the conversation. "The truth is immutable. You like fried rice, right?" He held the container out casually, but kept looking into the bag instead of at her.

"Yes, I like it." She took the box from his hand, then set it down on the counter and returned her attention to him. "Look, Bobby, I wasn't trying to insult you."

"I know you weren't," he said, trying to speak lightly. "You were just being truthful."

"Stop harping on about 'the truth,'" she snapped. "You know the truth can be bent."

He looked up, wondering if she was implying something or if he was just desperate enough to imagine she was. "Ok . . . so then how bent was the truth you just told?"

"I didn't specify that _I _bent the truth," she said, trying not to sound like she was hedging.

The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. "Well, now I'm asking you to specify. Did you?"

She mumbled something incomprehensible as she picked up her food and turned away from him, walking into the living room.

He felt a little more hopeful now that he realized that she was trying to hide something, so he grabbed his own dinner and followed her. "Alex? I didn't hear what you said."

"Don't call me Alex," she said absently, though it lacked the heat of her previous admonitions. "And yes, ok? I did bend the truth a little."

He lowered himself onto the couch, a little closer to her than he had sat last night. "Are you going to tell me the unbent truth now, or do I have to guess?"

Noticing how relaxed he was starting to look, she gave him a dirty look. "This isn't funny, Goren."

"I'm not trying to be funny," he said calmly. "I'm just trying to figure out what you're telling me."

She sighed. "It makes me want to laugh because it's so . . . low-brow compared to how you usually come on to women." Noticing his furrowed brows, she sighed again, more heavily this time, and looked back down at her food. "You usually try to impress them and then talk them around, so resorting to a cheap trick like whispering in my ear just felt . . . silly. It has nothing to do with whether I enjoyed it or not."

He was quiet for a few seconds, trying to process that, before he said, "I didn't know you had my personality so well-catalogued."

She shrugged. "It got pretty easy for me to see through you after a few years."

"See through me?" he asked warily. "What was there to see?"

"A lot." She reached over with her fork and snagged a few of his noodles. "All the vulnerability, but that's not too far below the surface. Deeper than that, believe it or not," she went on, giving him a teasing smile, "you do tend to be an egomaniac sometimes. Like when you start spouting facts and expect women to fall at your feet because you're so smart."

He stared at her, open-mouthed.

"Ew. You know," she grumbled, reaching over and pushing his mouth closed, "that's really unattractive when you don't bother to swallow first."

He swallowed, as ordered. "Sorry."

"S'ok. It's nice to see that I can still shock you sometimes."

"Huh?" he said blankly. "What do you mean, sh-"

Her cell phone started to ring, interrupting his question. "Mike said he'd call tonight," she said, walking over to the phone and checking the caller ID. "Yeah, this is him."

Bobby nodded and waited to be told to leave, or at least go in another room. When he realized that she wasn't going to do either, he grabbed her arm to stop her from unfolding the phone.

"What?" she asked distractedly.

"Don't you want me to go somewhere else?" he asked tentatively, wondering why he was protesting when this call could only work to his advantage. Probably because he didn't want to cause more trouble for her than he already had.

She rolled her eyes. "Your dinner's in here. I'm not going to kick you out. Now be quiet."

He listened intently to her side of the ensuing conversation:

"Hey," she answered the phone. "You're right on time."

She listened for a few seconds to the voice he could hear but not understand from his seat a few feet away, then glanced over at him. He froze, unsure of what that look meant, but apparently she didn't require a response, because she then turned her attention back to the phone. "I can't tonight, Mike," she said apologetically. "I've got plans."

He wondered if he was the "plans," or if she had something else lined up for later in the evening.

"Well I'm sorry," she said to Logan, sounding annoyed now, "but you said you were going to call, not come over. I'm not a mind reader."

Bobby perked up, sensing trouble in paradise. God, he was an evil person for being pleased by that!

"No, I can't," she snapped into the phone. "When I say I have plans, that means I'm busy. Look, we're in the middle of eating dinner and I - what?" she broke off abruptly. He could hear Logan's raised voice coming through the phone.

" 'We' is me and Bobby," she told Logan. "Would you - Mike! Calm down! We're having dinner, not having wild sex or something."

The other man's voice was still loud, and this time Bobby could hear bits and pieces of what he was saying: ". . . sex . . . not yet! . . . you know he hurt . . ."

"Logan!" she bit out after listening to a few seconds of his rant. "We already had this discussion, remember? I'm an adult and I can take care of myself."

The beginning of another tirade from the other end of the phone. Bobby couldn't understand anything this time, so he just forked up another bite of lo mein and watched her talk.

"Well, you should know me a hell of a lot better than that!" Her voice was rapidly approaching a yell, and he found himself pleased that he wasn't the only one who'd gotten screamed at by her recently. "If you can't . . . no! Would you just be quiet and pretend you trust me for once?"

She looked over at Bobby now, rolling her eyes in exasperation the same way she had during a thousand boring phone conversations in their past, and mouthed _overprotective _at him. Then, returning her attention to the phone, she growled, "I'm not listening to this, Mike. If you can't deal with how things are, after I've explained it to you a million times in the past few days, then that's your problem, not mine. Now, I'm going to hang up and finish my dinner. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

She snapped the phone closed and spiked it into one of the soft couch cushions. "Asshole!"

"He . . . doesn't want you seeing me?" Bobby asked tentatively, trying to elicit information without setting off her temper.

She sighed and plopped down in the middle of the couch. "You heard the conversation. I think it's pretty obvious that he doesn't."

"Oh." He waited for her to expound on that, but instead she just turned her attention back to her lukewarm chicken.

After a few bites, she looked back up at him and noticed his expectant look. "What?"

"You don't, uh . . . you don't want me to leave or anything?"

She snorted. "Looks like you're the only company I'm going to get tonight, so no, I'm not going to tell you to leave. And what happened to the Bobby from last night who would be doing a victory dance right now after hearing me fight with Logan?"

He blinked, surprised by her bluntness. "He . . . had an attack of conscience."

" 'Bout what?" she asked, moving her chicken container to her lap and stretching her legs out to rest her feet on the coffee table. "It's not your fault that he seems to think he owns me."

He leaned over slightly to see her face better. "I was the catalyst, though."

"Oh, finish your dinner," she ordered with friendly exasperation. "You're so obviously fishing."

"For what?" he asked indignantly.

"For me to say that you're the reason I'm considering calling off the engagement," she retorted, not realizing until she'd finished the sentence that she'd just slipped up in a big way. The smile dropped off her face then, and she hastened to add, "If that were the case, I mean. Which it's not."

He raised his eyebrows. "It's not?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged and looked down at where her phone lay between them. "You just said that he seems to think he owns you. That's not something I would expect you to accept without at least questioning it."

"I . . . uh . . ." Damn it, why did he have to have such a good point? "It's just one night. Maybe he's just in a bad mood."

He didn't even bother to respond to that, letting her realize for herself how silly it sounded. "He's got a dangerous temper, Alex."

"Yeah, well, so do I," she told him. "Can we stop talking about Logan, please?"

"What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I don't know." Deciding that she was finished with her chicken, she handed him the container so he could help himself if so inclined. "I'd say, 'tell me about your job,' but I'm really not too keen on talking about our jobs, either."

That stumped him. Besides Alex and Logan, the only thing he'd given any thought to lately was work. "Can I ask you about your new partner? What he's like, I mean, not about working with him."

The thought of Parker and his antics made her tension ease a little. "He's great. Steve Parker. I don't think you met him before you left, but I really like him."

He tried to picture Parker's desk as it had been when he stopped in the day before, though the detective hadn't been there at the time. "He married?"

"Hah! He's been divorced three times . . . I think I'm the only female left who'll put up with him, and that's only for eight hours a day. Somehow he keeps trying to give me relationship advice, though."

"Advice? Like what?"

"Well, let's see," she said, looking thoughtful as she tried to think of a good quote. "After you came in, he told me that I should beware of romantic sabotage, because you're smart enough to know that it might work."

He grinned. "I haven't gotten that desperate yet, but give me time. He sounds like a nice guy."

"He is. Only problem I have with him is that sometimes he forgets that he's not my father and teases me too much."

"He forgets he's not your father?" Bobby repeated. "How old is this guy?"

She nudged him with her elbow and smirked. "Jealous already? I forgot you haven't seen him yet. He's a couple years younger than my dad."

"I'm not jealous," he protested. "I'm just being . . . protective."

"God help me," she moaned. "I think I'd rather have you be jealous. I've had it up to _here _with protective men."

"Like Logan?" he asked, deciding that she'd been the one to bring it up and so it was fair game.

"Unfortunately." She shrugged. "I have no idea how he's worked around me for years and still thinks I'm breakable."

He wanted to make a point contrasting Logan's behavior and his own, but he figured that wouldn't go over well at the moment. "How could he think you're 'breakable'? You mean he thinks you're weak?"

She shook her head. "Not really physically. I think he just thinks . . . well, he thinks I was traumatized when you left and so he needs to handle me carefully. He treats me like I'm on a pedestal."

"And you let him?" he asked incredulously, unable to believe that the Alex he knew would accept such treatment.

She sighed. "Yeah, I have been. He just seems so . . . earnest."

He put the food containers down on the coffee table and turned fully toward her. "Let me see if I've got this straight: he's overprotective, 'earnest,' and he thinks you're fragile . . . and you're marrying him?"

"Don't."

"Why not? It looks like you could use a reality check, no matter who it comes from."

"Bobby, don't start," she warned again, glaring at him.

"You know, I'm surprised at you," he said with a sigh. "I really didn't think you'd cut someone that much slack if it infringed on your life."

"Yeah, well, I didn't think you'd run away from all your responsibilities and the people who loved you on a moment's notice, but we can't all be right all of the time, huh?"

He took a second to consider that, then nodded slowly. Leaning closer, he caught her eyes with his and said deliberately, "But I realized that it wasn't what I wanted. That's why I'm back here. Are you going to let yourself acknowledge that he's not right for you, or are you going to just be stubborn and stay unhappy?"

"I'm not unhappy," she argued, although even to herself it sounded unconvincing. Looking down at her ring, she began twisting it nervously on her finger. "I care about him and he cares about me. And he's . . ." She hesitated before finishing the sentence: "He's dependable."

He raised a hand to her face, trailing his fingers over her cheek. "I'm not going to run away again, I promise."

She pulled his hand down, but kept hold of it as she asked, "How do I know whether I can even believe that?" Her hand tightened around his with each word until it was almost painful. "Once was enough, Bobby. I couldn't take it a second time."

"I . . . I don't know what I can tell you to make you believe me, except to say that the situation we were in, the one that made me leave, isn't there anymore," he said, his eyes pleading with her to believe him. "We're not partners anymore. We don't even work for the same agency. I . . . it wouldn't hurt you if we did this now, even if it doesn't work out."

"Bobby?" she said after a moment's silence.

Wary of her change in tone, he shifted his eyes to the side. "Yeah?"

"How long did it take you to put the mug back together?"

He shrugged self-consciously, not sure where she was going with this line of questioning. "The better part of a night."

"It looks almost as good as new. I could probably drink out of it, and it wouldn't leak."

"Did you bring it home?" he asked. "There's no reason why you can't test it out."

She looked struck by that thought, which hadn't entered her mind. "Yeah. It's . . . it's, uh, in the kitchen." She looked at him closely for signs of mockery, and when she found none, smiled. "You're right. Let's see how strong it is."

He wondered if she was speaking on two levels on purpose, or whether it was just happenstance. "Ok." He stood up and offered her his hand.

She accepted the help and didn't complain when his overenthusiastic tug made her bump into him. "It really only took one night?" she asked, looking up at him as they headed for the kitchen.

He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. "I was . . . uh, determined."

Walking to the box she'd left on the kitchen counter, she pulled out the mug, then looked back at him. "Would you have kept being that determined, even if it took more than one night? Even if it took a long time?"

Instead of answering right away, he turned on the faucet and motioned her toward the sink, watching silently from behind as she filled the mug.

"Bobby?" she prompted, lifting the mug to eye level, when his silence persisted. "Look - it's not dripping."

He laid a hand gently on her hip, watching for any sign of refusal from her. When none came, he mirrored the movement with his other hand and leaned slightly over her shoulder, ostensibly to get a better view of the miraculous mug. "I told you . . . even something as broken as that can be put back together, almost as good as new. It just took a little . . . dedication."

"Dedication?" she echoed, leaning back against him and tilting her head to see his face.

"Yeah, dedication," he said, lowering his lips toward hers as slowly as he could, waiting for her to pull away but praying she didn't. "You know . . . a little time, a lot of effort . . ."

When he paused, his lips a hair's breadth from hers, she fixed her eyes on his and gave him a tiny smile as she finished for him, "And a lot of glue."

His eyes closed for a moment, then re-opened, looking at her with an intensity that hadn't been there a few seconds ago. "Alex . . ." he murmured, moving one of his hands from her hip to trace the line of her throat. "Is this . . .?"

In answer, she turned and slid her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and clinging to him with all the fear and love she had been trying so hard to ignore. "I hate it when you're right, you know that?"

He felt her arms shifting behind his neck, and for a second he was afraid she was going to pull away. Her right hand curled around his neck more securely, while her left drifted away, and he was trying to decide how to handle this newest rejection when he heard the _clink _of metal on the countertop. Lifting his head, he looked down over her shoulder to the counter.

The Santa mug sat there, reassuringly whole, and next to it lay a tiny circle of gold. He stared at it, trying to convince himself this was really happening, until a few seconds later when she replaced her free arm around his neck and rose on her toes to press her lips to his. His eyes flew back to hers then, and as their lips finally met in a soft kiss, they stared, wide-eyed, at each other over it.

Then her eyes fluttered close and she tightened her arms around him. "Bobby . . . stay."

He tightened his hold on her in return. "I'm not going anywhere."

_Fin_


End file.
